I suppose I am the first person to notice the new Sparkler Posts section. And I am very very excited about this. EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am squealing with delight! Literally. (And I MEAN literally, literally.) And I am surprised that no one has posted yet.

You might be wondering what a pair of separating hands has got to do with inauguration. Excellent question. The answer? It has got absolutely nothing to do with inaugurations!

It is actually related to a story I wrote for my English assignment (with idea help from Glinda_Darling and naturelover100). Here is the story:

Look at me. What do you see? An old man with wrinkles volunteering at the Terminal Illness Center? He comes here every day and seldom talks to anyone. You are just glancing at me, aren’t you? You’re not seeing.

Look at me again. Do you notice the deep creases of worry on my forehead? Do you see the pangs of pain radiating from my eyes? Do you notice the corners of my mouth drooping downwards? Do you realize that I am not more than fifty? Do you? DO YOU? If you don’t, then I’ve succeeded. If you do, then let me tell you this: I was not always so.

Once upon a time- it seems ages ago, though it was actually a few years ago- I had a wife. I loved her, she loved me. We were happy. And suddenly one day, she struggled to remember my name.

Things got worse. She forgot that we were married. She forgot that we had kids. She forgot all about herself. She turned into a lifeless android. The doctor called it Alzheimer’s. To me, it seemed that the devil had sucked her soul out of her still youthful body.

On 24 December 2008 at exactly 9:00 am, the call came. The day before Christmas. I still remember the day clearly. Everything seemed to move in slow motion after that one call. My wife had a stroke.

I rushed to the hospital. Room 143. She lay on the bed, an image of serenity. Her heart machine was still beeping. She was still alive! But the doctor refused to entertain further hopes. Her brain was dead, he said. He was lying. I alone knew the truth. Her body might have been alive all these month- it was still alive- but the Jen I knew had died months ago. Her body remained a ghost, a reflection of the past.

Tears sprang down my eyes. Even though she had already died, I couldn’t bear to see her lying on her literal deathbed. I sat down next to her and held her hand.

“Jen.” I said softly. Her hand twitched under mine. I swear it did.

“Jen. Wake up, Jen!” I said again. Even though she was dead, I still loved her body. I didn’t want it to rot. I didn’t want worms to feed on her frame.

“It is of no use.” The doctor said. “She will probably live a few minutes more. A couple of hours at the best.” As if on cue, the heart machine stopped beating. Paramedics floated into the room trying to save her. I was directed to the waiting room. I have no idea for how long I sat there. It didn’t matter anyway. Jen was dead. She was lost forever. I just knew it.

Soon enough, a man came and informed me that she had died. I don’t remember what came next. I probably fainted.

I quit my job. I spent months in isolation haunted by her memories. I tried to find solace in the past. It was of no use. I had been separated from her forever. FOREVER!

Jen….. what would Jen say if she saw me now? I had aged years. I was turning as lifeless as her. I didn’t want that to happen! No!

Something clicked inside me. I had to go on. The world had to move. I had to be strong.

On an impulse, I picked up the phone book and called “Alzheimer’s 101”.

And that is how I became what I am today. Not happy, not sad, but a person who keeps holding on.

What do you guys think of my story? I think it is one of the best I ever wrote. Tell me. I want to hear from you!